When my father died and I sat in front of his casket at the funeral, I had to listen to a preacher give a sermon. We were at the cemetery. Everyone was sitting in chairs, we were under a tent, his grave was nearby. This preacher did not even know my father. Nothing he said mattered. He mentioned god. I did not listen. Instead, I watched the ants crawling on the ground and I stared at the red carnations on my father's casket and thought--life is in the flowers. I did not want his words of god. I did not want god. I just wanted my father.